


I Swore to You

by Birdie (Robin_Mask)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One Shot, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Birdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade loved death, but this was the one place he hoped never to find it . . . </p>
<p>This was the one time he wished for life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Swore to You

“Watch out, Petey!”

There was a flash of light. It was painful to Wade’s eyes; he wondered briefly how the others would cope, because he was pretty sure no one else had retinas that would heal, but the sound of the battle continued on around him. He threw himself against a wall for cover. There was no way that he could stand around rubbing his eyes in the midst of the corridor, not least when his team needed him! He just couldn’t stop the spots from floating in front of his eyes, plus there was that horrible stinging sensation, and surely he wasn’t the only one affected?

_Damn bastards_. Wade spat at the floor and waited for the pain to pass, but he knew damned well that he was missing half of the battle! The sound of metal upon metal, of skin against skin, was fading fast into the distance and it was fading without him . . . he was the mercenary, but the fight carried on and he was left behind. He hated that. It was as if he weren’t important enough for them to wait! Spider-Man would wait, though! He always waited, because he was a good guy and under that mask was Petey, and Petey was an even better guy with an even bigger heart! Hell, Petey was probably fighting the villain-of-the-week right at that very second, defending Wade’s honour!

There was a smell of iron in the air, which made Wade feel a little faint, but the smell wasn’t quite as prominent as the smell of ash and smoke. He wondered where the fire was, although he knew it was probably just a smouldering piece of wreckage somewhere. No, it wasn’t important. The sounds were just as bad as the smells, because it was that crunching and breaking and spluttering sound that you usually only heard in horror movies . . . like when the special-effects guy would put a pencil in the apple and move it about . . . it was a wet sound.

“Yo, I think my sight’s coming back!”

He blinked a lot and waved a hand in front of his face, before he put it in front of him to fumble around in the dark. The world was one of vague blobs of grey matter, although he had seen a lot worse during his time, which one time included looking at his own eyeballs! It may have been foolish to follow the sound, but what other choice did he have? It’s not as though he could die anyway. The shapes now had edges and outlines, so that he could see the abandoned hall and corridor for what they were. This was the _worst_ lair ever.

A shape ran away when Wade walked a little further into the hall, but he ignored it and focussed on trying to reunite with Petey. The pattered footsteps seemed to head in the direction of the battle further afield, whilst nearby he could hear a strange gurgling sound, like someone had blocked the garbage disposal or something . . . there was red, but that was natural during a battle, right? No, wait. The smell was too strong for it just to be a wound, but something far deeper and darker and –. He could see now. He stumbled a little as he tripped over a piece of rubble, but he fell to his knees before a comrade . . . a fallen comrade.

“Spidey?”

_‘Yeah? Is that you, Wade?’_

_Peter dodged the oncoming punch. It was easy with his quick reflexes, but sadly his attacker was just as quick as he was when it came to movement. The main concern was to get this guy away from the city centre and to someplace where no one would get hurt, maybe an alley or a rooftop, but he hadn’t much time to think before huge swinging attacks. If that were Wade, he only hoped he could help in some capacity as Deadpool. It could be handy._

_The newcomer – in terms of local villains – had decided to attack Spider-Man on sight, which wasn’t too unusual in itself, because most greenhorns thought that taking out the city’s hero would cause their ranks to rise. He had been caught mid-swing. It had left him hurtling to the ground at some speed, where he had only just managed to save his life by shooting a web at a streetlight before rolling onto the pavement below. It had been hard and rough under him. The material on his elbows and knees was torn pretty bad, whilst his limbs ached with a vengeance, and – as he stood – the attacks came immediately._

_‘A little help, Wade? Spiders may have eight limbs, but I don’t!’_

_‘Hold your horses, Spidey! I’m coming!’_

_The villain struck pretty hard at Peter’s jaw, which send him crashing into a shop window somewhere behind him. It was painful. He could feel the shards of glass embedded into his back and arms, whilst the sound of the scattering glass was secondary to the pain he felt, although the sound of his groaning voice was probably the biggest distraction even to himself. He sat up slowly and held his head in his hands. Everything hurt. Everything stung._

_There was the sound of screaming all about the streets around him. He ignored the people running in all directions, like ants scurrying around a nest, and looked at his hand where a shard of glass was stuck into his palm. It took him a moment to find the strength to pull it out, whilst a trickle of blood came with it. He felt faint. He looked up to see Deadpool – to the cheers of ‘Spider-Man’ – fighting this new villain, whilst the large man struck back over and over with little strategy or forethought. There were huge gashes in Deadpool’s skin, but the older man fought on . . . great, now Spider-Man would be associated with ‘invincibility’._

_A few seconds later, the villain struck and Deadpool was sent hurtling through the air. He landed just a few feet away from Peter. If Deadpool could see him through the mask, he would have seen the coldest and hardest stare imaginable. Peter gave a long sigh then fell back onto his back, where the glass crunched upon the wood beneath him, and after a few moments of silence Deadpool appeared to take in a huge rush of breath. He patted around his chest and then dropped his hand onto Peter’s chest. It was almost sweet . . ._

_. . . until he groped._

_‘I hate you, Deadpool.’_

_‘I know you mean “love”!’_

_There was a roaring sound of pure rage from ahead. Peter used his flexibility and reflexes to jump immediately into a crouched position, where his spider-sense began to stab furiously into his skull with a sharp pain, and next to him Deadpool stood up and used his katana swords to brace for any oncoming attack. They both breathed heavily and braced themselves. It was rare that they teamed up, but Peter had to admit that interesting things always happened when they did . . . one day he would have to show Wade his true face._

_‘I’ve got your back, Spidey!’_

“I’m here. I’m here! Don’t go, okay?”

Wade forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to breathe! Okay, in and out, right? He had to remain calm and administer _some_ first aid, because how else would his baby boy survive through this? The only problem was that Wade didn’t _know_ first-aid! He always healed. He healed and so could Peter, only Peter healed much slower and couldn’t come back from the dead and this injury was serious and -! Okay, he used to take Bob to the veterinarians, and that was kind of like human first-aid, wasn’t it? What did he do? What should he do?

The blood was pouring out in inhuman rates, so that the gash in his stomach was spurting out in a manner that Wade had only ever seen when he decapitated people, but this wasn’t a fatal injury . . . no . . . it couldn’t be fatal. Well, it wouldn’t be fatal if he just stopped the bleeding! _Stop the bleeding; I can do that, right?_ He reached down to press his hands hard against the open flesh, where he could see the start of organs and practically feel the pulse of blood, and the blood -! It was hot against his skin and so wet. It was the same feeling as when he submerged his hands into hot water, only it was wrong somehow . . . cloying . . .

_Fuck!_ Wade pressed one hand down and used the other to reach up, where he ripped off Peter’s mask and revealed the face beneath, but – in the deepest part of his soul – he almost wished that he had left the mask on his closest friend. The skin on his face was so pale that it was almost a shade beyond white, something so pure that it would have been beautiful in any other circumstance, like porcelain or marble, but it was so _unnatural_. It was – it was wrong! Why – why was Peter smiling? Did he not feel it? There was a horrible and broken smile upon his face, which was spattered with blood and a trickle that fell from his red lips . . . lips that shouldn’t be red . . . whomever did this would pay. They would _pay_.

He couldn’t breathe! The tightness to his throat was just too much! It made him feel like he was choking, whilst his eyes burned so much that he felt blinded again, and all of a sudden the world was spinning . . . the peeling paint of the walls moved before his eyes, whilst the stale air of the abandoned building felt suffocating. He – he needed to make the bleeding stop, but it wouldn’t . . . what would happen if it didn’t stop? Heroes didn’t die! They _couldn’t_ die! It was like a rule! Would there be a reboot or a crossover or -?

“D-don’t cry, Wade,” Peter rasped.

“Baby boy, stay strong! We’ll get Strange or Bruce or –!”

“It h-hurts . . . it hurts. I – I can’t – I can’t make it stop . . . it hurts.”

_‘It’ll hurt less, if you stop squirming!’_

_There was a harsh curse word from Wade. It was enough to make Peter sigh heavily, because his boyfriend knew full well how he found swearing immoral and uncouth. He instead used his forearm to wipe the moisture from his forehead, as his sleeves were uncomfortably rolled up to his upper arms, whilst his hands were coated in lotion and water from the bath. It must have been a comical sight, especially when Wade sat in the bath hunched over with his hands wrapped around his legs. Peter’s shirt was already covered in water._

_‘I feel like I’m bathing a dog,’ he muttered._

_‘Not my fault it hurts,’ Wade mumbled._

_Peter fell onto his buttocks next to the bathtub. They hadn’t been dating very long, in fact it had only been a few weeks, but they had been friends for so many years before that, which meant these small intimacies felt rather natural. He had seen Wade naked a few times, after accidentally walking in on him showering or helping him to bathe his wounds, whilst they seemed to spend more nights together than they did apart. It probably wouldn’t be long before they took things up a level, but not tonight . . . that much was certain._

_The bath water was almost red, which worried Peter a little, but the cancer was so bad today that it was almost to be expected. There were huge and gaping sores all over Wade’s body, whilst some scabs had opened and some cuts had formed, and Wade seemed to be in immeasurable pain that nothing would relieve. It was well known that the older man was in constant pain every day, but this was the first time that Peter had seen it so bad and so extreme . . . when he walked into the apartment, Wade had been rocking on his bed saying simply ‘it hurts’ over and over and over. He guided Wade to the bathroom, but that in itself had taken nearly half-an-hour, as any movement caused the dry patches on his skin to weep._

_He reached out and began to massage the lotion into Wade’s skin. It was the least that he could do, but he hoped that the massaging of his skin with the lotion would help, and – just to be safe – he had bought specially formulated lotion, too. The chemist had reassured him that it was free from perfumes and fragrances, useful for conditions like dermatitis, and he had left the shop with high hopes. Wade had yet to use the stuff, so he could only hope that this would work . . . anything was better than nothing, right?_

_‘Tell me, if I hurt you,’ said Peter._

_Wade hissed as Peter touched his skin. There was an arch to his back and he threw his head back, before he settled back to his hunched position in the now lukewarm water, and Peter carefully lifted himself to sit on the rim of the bathtub. It enabled him better access, which he used to knead out the knots in the muscles and rub soothing circles over his back, and – after a while – Wade began to groan in what sounded like appreciation. The skin was rough to the touch, like rubbing against brick or sand, and yet his boyfriend failed to notice the skin that flaked off under long fingers. Peter leaned down to kiss his shoulder._

_‘Want to order in tonight?’_

_‘Let’s get Mexican. I like Mexican.’_

_‘Sure, I could go for that.’_

“Eat up, baby boy!”

The pain on his arm was intense, but it could be nowhere near as intense as what Peter felt. It was like a burning sensation, something that gnawed deep and went deeper still, until he wondered whether it would consume him entirely. The sleeve of his suit was rolled up, whilst he had flung his gloves so far that they would be lost entirely in the rubble, and down his arm the blood trickled and dripped. He could hear faint splashes fall on the stone below, so that Peter tried to crane his neck to the source. Wade shushed him into stillness.

He came around Peter and gently lifted his partner’s head onto his lap, as he knelt down behind him and stroked at his hair, although the tears refused to stop falling and he continued to sob silently to himself. Peter let out a sound that may have been a scream, but he hadn’t the strength to even so much as cry any longer. The movement forced his stomach to clench and the wound to push forth a larger gush of blood . . . trying to staunch it no longer did anything . . . Wade had to try something else. He reached his arms downwards to lock almost around Peter’s neck, enabling him to comfort the younger man and yet do what needed to be done, and he used his knife to cut another slice . . . just one more . . .

“Just don’t ask where it came from, okay? I think I did this once,” said Wade. “I – I mean who can keep up, right? I barely remember my own backstory, but all these continuities and stuff get so confusing. I – you – just . . . eat up, okay? Eat up.”

Wade placed the slither of skin against Peter’s lips. It was clear that the younger man was hanging onto consciousness by a thread, so that his eyes were unfocussed and they appeared cloudy to look at, and the bloody flesh at his lips barely got a response. He simply moved his lips a little to accommodate it, but overall appeared unable to so much as able to chew, let alone take it into his mouth. What if he just drank Wade’s blood? It – it was pretty gross and like a vampire or something, but . . . it might work, right? It might give Peter his healing factor or kick-start his own into something better or – or – or just _something_! Wade tried to force the flesh into his mouth, but he didn’t want Peter to choke . . .

He let his trembling hands stroke through Peter’s bloodied hair, whilst he drew in sharp and broken breaths for air, and as he looked down he could see the trails of clear white skin through the grime and blood . . . Wade’s tears have carved paths through the dirt. It was horrible how cold Peter felt! How – how could he get him to warm up? The blood was so hot when it seeped through his fingers, but Peter was so cold . . . it was like the touch of snow or ice or – or – or . . . this – this was wrong. It was so wrong! It was wrong . . .

“I’ve got you, sweetums. I’ve got you.”

_‘You’ll have to let me go at some point,’ Peter laughed._

_Wade shook his head rapidly over and over. It was enough to make Peter laugh again, as he wondered when his new fiancé would stop crying and pull away, but he wasn’t going to complain when he loved the way that they felt so entwined. The weather was so hot outside that they lost the sheets entirely during their lovemaking, and the mattress beneath them was so soaked with sweat that Peter was seriously tempted to replace it. They were sticky and covered in all manners of fluids . . . the lubrication, the semen, the sweat . . ._

_Peter stroked Wade’s head lightly with his fingertips, as his lover muttered how much he loved Peter and occasionally how sore his behind felt, and he rested his head upon Peter’s stomach and kept his arms wrapped tightly around Peter’s waist. It was a little uncomfortable, because his older fiancé must have weighed twice as much as he did, or – at least – it felt that way when he lay on top as he did, with their legs tangled around one another, and he couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling with a content smile. He could feel his hair matted to his neck and forehead, whilst his heart was so loud within his ears that he could feel the pulse within chest. It was the perfect moment._

_He looked down to Wade and saw Wade look up, with eyes so beautifully brown that he didn’t think he would ever be able to look away. There were a few unshed tears in Wade’s eyes, as well as a tremble to his lip, because finally they were happy. They had such dark histories and such deep pain . . . Wade had never felt able to love again after his abuse and suffering, as well as the deaths he had caused and the blood in his ledger, but he finally found someone that recognised his achievements and appreciated him as a person. They complemented each other. They were like two puzzle pieces locked together._

_‘What’s with the chick song playing?’_

_‘Huh?’ Peter rubbed his eyes. ‘I guess we left my play-list running. I think it’s from an old video game, but thanks for ruining the moment there, bug-breath. You were supposed to say something like “I’ll never let you go”, not insult my music.’_

_‘Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it! It’s pretty cool, I guess. It just seems depressing in parts, but then there’s that part, isn’t there, that’s all – like – optimistic and stuff. I like the bit that goes: “regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at all, nothing’s like before”. You’re all girly and stuff, right? You must think of the future a lot! I mean, not like the sort of “I wonder if he’ll mind if I wear a dress during sex” stuff, but like real stuff.’_

_‘What kind of stuff? We’re getting married, it’d be a lie to say I don’t think about our future.’_

_‘I don’t know, like where we’ll live and kids and stuff.’_

_‘Ah, that, well, all the time.’_

_The smile on Wade’s lips was absolutely perfect. It was wide and bright, enough so that the tears that threatened to fall now fell, and Peter felt_ honoured _, because this was a side to Wade that so few people rarely got to see. He reached down to pull his fiancé up so that he could kiss him, but Wade clear had other ideas. The mercenary rolled them over, so that Peter was forced to sit astride him and brace his hands on either side of his head for balance and – when he looked down – he saw the devilish smirk on the other’s lips._

_‘You’re lucky I love you,’ Peter said._

_‘I really am!’_

“You’re all that I have . . .”

Wade stroked Peter’s cheek and tried to stay calm. The younger man wouldn’t eat the slithers that were given to him, whilst his breaths were so shallow that he hardly looked to be breathing at all, and he no longer responded to anything that Wade said or did. He hoped that his lover was no longer in pain, but the wound was so deep and angry looking, with the blue of his costume almost black with blood, and a part of him – a dark and dangerous part – just knew that this would be it . . . this was the end of everything . . .

How – how could this moment mean everything and nothing all at once? Peter’s life hung by a thread, so that whilst he lived they could be together, but once he died . . . no, ‘if’ . . . _if_ he died then everything they had would die with him . . . their hopes and dreams -! Gone! No one had ever loved Wade so deeply or truly as Peter, just as no one had ever looked at Wade’s true face and held any response than disgust, but Peter was different -! He – he loved – he loved Wade and – and this man was his only love and only chance for happiness! He promised Peter to always protect him to – to – to –

Oh God, he’d broken his promise! Peter felt so tense and hard under his fingertips, whilst the cold skin was now clammy and strange to the touch . . . he should have been quicker to reach Peter . . . he should have taken out the bad guys when he had the chance . . . Peter – Peter should never have made him promise to stop killing! It was – it was Peter’s fault! No, no, it was never his fault . . . never . . . it was – it was all Wade . . .

“Hey, we talked about this,” said Wade. “You can’t die.”

He leaned over Peter, so that one hand fell across his fiancé’s chest and the other draped itself over his neck, and – as he cradled Peter’s head in his lap – he created something of a dark space in which only the two of them existed. The world around them was gone. Wade drew in a shuddered breath and felt his tears fall, where they landed with a soft splatter against Peter’s clothed neck. There was nothing else in world that mattered aside from Peter, so that without him the world felt dark and empty . . . broken and incomplete . . .

“We’re going to get married, Petey,” murmured Wade. “You promised that we’d invite only the people closest to us, that we’d get married in the park with Ellie present, and we’d spend our lives together . . . don’t be a liar, love. You aren’t a fucking liar.”

There were sounds of fighting in the distance, but then there fell a deep silence. It fell at the exact moment that Peter’s breath stilled completely, where his eyes refused to close, and where his hand slid lifelessly from to his side. Their battle was lost, even as the battle outside was won, and this is where it all came to an end. Peter deserved better. This – this dank and dirty little shit-hole wasn’t good enough . . . alone and scared . . . covered in his blood and with organs almost on display . . . he – he deserved more . . .

Wade wanted to stay strong. He wanted to be brave and to hold Peter, because – because he – he had to wake up soon, he had to! It was just – it was just too much. He – he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t die . . . he would have to live without Peter . . . life without Peter sounded like a fate worse than death . . . he – he would wake up soon, right? This – this was a bad dream. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t real! The blood had stopped pumping, but Peter needed blood to live . . . what if he did CPR or just the chest compressions? No. It wouldn’t work. He could feel it. Peter was gone . . . he was gone . . . and . . . he would . . . Wade would forever be alone now, without an equal or without a love; no one else could replace Peter. No one.

He let out an agonised scream. He didn’t stop.

He tasted blood.

_‘I’ll always love you, Wade.’_

_‘You promise? Tell me again . . . please.’_

_‘I’ll tell you over and over! I love you, I love you, I love you.’_

“Wade, let him go! That’s it! He’s gone! It’s over! He’s . . . he’s dead, Wade.”

“Fuck you! Let me go! He’s not dead, I – I swore to him –”

“Wilson, you have to stop this, he’s -!”

“I swore – I fucking swore!”

Wade dropped to his knees. They stung with the force of the movement, whilst his eyes felt raw and gritty, and when he reached out to touch Peter . . . he couldn’t. He couldn’t dirty his lover’s face with his filthy touch! Peter was gone, but what was left . . . it was sacred, beautiful and perfect . . . it was once all that Peter was and all that Peter had left. He couldn’t sully him further, because he had betrayed him. He had broken his promise. Now there was nothing left and no reason to carry on . . . if he could just trade places . . .

“I swore to him that I would always protect him.”

The tears came freely. He no longer gave a fuck who saw him, even if they pitied him or felt disgusted by him, because everything good in this world was now washed away with blood, and all that was left was the shell of a man that was once everything to him. He looked to Peter and smiled sadly. He wiped the tears and mucus from his nose, before he collapsed onto his hands and knees and whispered one last broken:

“I swore to you . . .”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728222) by [VyxenSkye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VyxenSkye/pseuds/VyxenSkye)




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